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" Nothing," Mr. Munn answered.

The officer went out, and there was a tramping of feet on
the stairs.

No, Mr. Munn thought, it wouldn't have worked, it
wouldn't have done any good. He did not look at the women.
The feet moved overhead, scrapingly on the bare floors. He
heard the sound of doors heing opened, then closed. He
wondered if he hadn't made the row with the officer because
he was afraid. A coward. Then he thought, No, it wouldn't
have done any good.

He heard the voices upstairs, suddenly sharp and de-
manding. Someone was pounding on a door. It was the
officer's voice that was commanding, very loud, " Open that

Mr. Munn moved toward the hall, and the soldier blocked
his way.

"It's Isabella," Portia said. "It's Isabella; she won't let
them in."

" Get away," Mr. Munn ordered the soldier, who held his
carbine at the port to block the door. He laid his hand on
the carbine.

The soldier's face, he noticed flickeringly, irrelevantly, was
round and unformed, childish. "Listen, boy," Mr. Munn
said, speaking quickly, " lay a hand on me and get in trouble.
Real trouble. They haven't got a warrant for me. It'll be
trouble for you. Listen, I'm a lawyer, I know."

Mr. Munn did not take his hand from the carbine. The
boy gave a little ground.

" Get away," Mr. Munn said. " All he said was keep an
eye on me. Get away."

He pushed past the soldier and ran up the steps, the soldier

The officer stood in front of the locked door of the bedroom
at the head of the stairs, the deputy on one side and the two
soldiers on the other. One of the soldiers held a lamp, the
chimney smutted now because the flame had flared and
jerked with the motion of being carried about. The light was